Soft Pressure
by StoriesThatNeverWere
Summary: Do actions always speak louder than words?


This story is canon-compliant, both in regard to the show I did not create and the story "Would You Mind" which I did. It is not necessary for you to read "Would You Mind" to understand this one-shot, however I do hope, should you appreciate this piece, you will venture over for a glimpse at the basis story. This one-shot is set during early March of the gang's final year at PCA.

Comments and criticism are encouraged, especially as I have never delved into the personalities and insights of these characters before. I also tried my hand at various literary devices, to experiment with their place in everyday writing.

And now, the story.

* * *

She moved with awkward grace, an appropriate but unusual description for something he had always associated with anxiety and sweat. The crease on her brow was not accusatory toward her physical surroundings, the figure in the shadows concluded, nor was the scattered rhythm of her dribbling vexed with repented stress or fury. She hopped without enthusiasm, her alternative to running, curling her leg toward her abdomen and thrusting her arms up till her wrists carelessly dipped into a hook. The composition of noises to follow- the thud of the backboard, two springs on the wire rim, and the whisp of net conforming to the shape of a basketball- was as familiar to him as a favorite bedtime story.

Her milky-white skin dripped with the clementine glow of an eavesdropping sunset. Her dark hair refracted beads of burgundy, tucked in a ball against the back of her neck. This hairstyle, which she had never before sported in his presence, made her appear older. Yet perhaps he was too quick to pinpoint blame. The grey brush of a horseshoe under each eye, and luster lost from the oval eyes beneath her thick, russet pair of glasses certainly contributed to his present perception of her. Her lanky left leg dangled in the air when she tossed the ball again, her plastic sandal sliding off the platform of her foot. Her gaze shifted from the hoop down to her shoe. Her pursed lips twitched at the corners, her frown consequently deepening. She fixed her footing, and looked up to see the person who had been watching her for several minutes slip from the cover of the trees with her basketball positioned atop his flat palm.

Her only indication of surprise was the slight fall of her jaw. And then immediately she took a half-step back, casually hunching her shoulders and falling back on her knees. This reaction from her was not foreign, as he had been the front of numerous variations of said response for the past few weeks. It was only with time he began to notice their frequency and the discomfort across her otherwise kind face. Oblivious as to what had brought her to act this way around him, he took advantage of finding her alone on the court tonight to approach her.

Now he felt like a bully, watching her shrink from him, even as her gaze gave away nothing to suggest she was scared. He noted to himself how small she looked with her shoulders exposed, covered only partially by her tank-top. Her posture remained correct, which he identified as an effort on her part to appear composed. She was also visibly breathing. The white cloth of her shirt rested against her breasts, rising and dipping with each cycle of inhalations. Her stomach did not shapen against the material, accentuating her dainty figure. Her orange sweatpants were a size too large, yet so apparently worn and re-worn that something within him registered these were her favorite pants to exercise in. Owning a pair of lucky socks himself, he could understand the sentimental regard.

Her voice was one aspect of her recent behavior that had not changed. Her tone was as firm as always in it's low, effortless form. By happenstance, it was this factor that had tipped him off toward her disconcertion. Her communication and her body language were clashing.

"Oh. Hi Michael. I didn't see you there." There was a graze of uncertain curtness rounding her words.

Kneeling to place the basketball and his untouched dinner (a can of spaghetti-o's, a sandwich baggy filled with grapes and a carton of chocolate pudding) in the grass, Michael inconspicuously drew closer to his companion as he stood. Although her stance didn't adjust, her toes nudged to the right.

"I was on my way to meet Lisa for a picnic, but I saw you out here and thought I might talk with you."

"Actually, I was just about to go… I'm working on an experiment for strengthening the chemical composition of various metals so they will become ten times stronger and sharper than diamond. If I can make it work for aluminum or tin, we'll be able to use more recyclable products to… er…" she seemed to think better of continuing. "Sorry, I won't bore you with the details. You and Lisa have a nice picnic. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Quinn, hang on." She had already spun away from him, but remained still now. Michael took this time to approach her. When she turned back on her heels, he was directly in front of her. "I really did want to talk to you."

"About what?" She feigned naivety well.

"About what's been going on with us."

"I-I don't know you're talking about." Seeming to find their sudden proximity uncomfortable, the teenage girl edged backward.

He followed in kind. "I think you know more than I do. You've been acting really weird around me lately, and I want to know what's up. If I've done something, I swear it wasn't intentionally, but you're my friend, and my best friend's girl, so whatever's going on, I want to get it out in the open."

"Nothing's wrong! You haven't done anything."

"So… what's the deal with this new _Michael's-the-boogie-man_ groove you've got going on?"

Her eyes parted to her left. "I'm not sure what you're talking about. A lot's been happening, with school and our friends and stuff. I'm kind of caught up in it all, you know?, and I guess maybe it looks like I'm mad at you or something, but I'm not. Really."

"Uh-huh."

Michael's gentle manner seemed to vanish, and he was suddenly looking over her as though she were under a microscope. She was noticeable unnerved. "I don't know what you-"

"Quinn, have you ever studied psychology?"

She blinked; long, delicate eyelashes skimming the spongy crevice of skin above her cheekbone. "Um. No, not really. I'm more interested in the hands-on kinds of science."

"Do you know any of the signs of a person who is lying?"

"Well, one of my Quinnventions is a lie detector that measures heart rate, blood-"

"No no, I'm talking about reading people's faces and their hand gestures. It's a really big study going on right now. I have a cousin who's working at a facility in Seattle that is researching this stuff, and he told me about some of the facial features that indicate whether someone's lying or not. For example, shifting your eyes to the left is a tell-tale sign you are about to tell a lie. _You_ just did that."

An interlude of silence hung between the pair, where Quinn shifted through several emotions. From taken aback, to ashamed and then halting on defiant. "So? There could be any number of reasons why I-"

"Other signs include touching your neck, lacing your fingers together and-" he paused as her hand rose to her shoulder, "playing with your hair." The final syllable came just her nails skimmed a strand that had fallen over her ear. Quinn hastily jerked her hand away, as though she had been singed, her jaw tightening. Michael stole her gaze, searching her eyes for a glimpse into her thoughts. He was disappointed when failed to see anything.

"Come on, Quinn, don't do this to me."

Michael hadn't intended to sound so pathetic. For that matter, he hadn't intended to say what he was thinking aloud.

A flash of something that resembled concern crossed her face.

"What do you mean?"

This time, it was Michael who stepped away. His arms flew up to match the height of his shoulders before sinking down to his hips. "I don't know. It's just that… Chase and Zoey are going through their own thing right now, so they're both kinda introvert lately. You and I both know Lola's on the fritz, who-knows-about-what, and Logan… well, he's pretty much in the same boat we are, isn't he? Our little group of friends is in a pickle right now, so you, me and Logan are trying to keep everyone together, right? So… so now you and I apparently have some problem that I don't know anything about. And frankly, I think it's unfair. We're supposed to be working as a team, but that's gonna be hard when you're afraid to touch me with a ten-foot chopstick!"

The sun had followed its eminent path over the end of the earth. Automatic lights flickered on around the court, and Quinn's glow returned, although far paler against the contrast of generated illumination. Her hands cupped the frame of her hips, and the audible sigh she released suggested she had been holding her breath. Her head drooped as she rolled on her feet and, finally, straightened her legs. She kept her focus on the ground for a long while, submitting Michael to patience.

He was just about to speak up, the desire to break the silence unbearable, when she sniffed lightly. He had only a second to consider if she was crying.

"You're right. You're right, and I'm… _so_ sorry. With everything that's going on right now, we should be sticking together and… my being stupid isn't going to help that!" She let out a pitiable laugh.

"As if you could possibly be anything resembling stupid," he replied to the ludicrous statement.

"You didn't do anything. I wasn't lying about that. It's just that." Another sigh emitted. "It's nothing, I assure you. I promise I'll stop being so ridiculous and I'll quit acting the way I have been."

The distress in her voice betrayed her helplessness. If she wasn't already crying, she was on the verge of doing so.

"That isn't the point. Something's bothering you, and it only seems to bother you when I'm around."

She shook her head. "It's just my over-zealous, narcissistic behavior. Geez, I'm being a pestiferous simpleton who is manipulated by her precarious insecurities and perpetual imperfections, and am losing the friendship of the most benevolent, sanguine person I've ever met!"

Michael made a mental note to look those words up when he returned to his dorm. "Quinn, I am not going anywhere until you tell me what's bothering you. So you might as well just come out and say it." He made a conscious attempt to contain his frustration. Truthfully, he couldn't imagine any self-serving scenario pertaining to Quinn. As such, he concluded she was being too judgmental, and wouldn't leave when she was beating herself up this way.

She gave a futile reply. "It's embarrassing."

Oh.

"You mean like… uh, _female_ embarrassing?"

Quinn gently scoffed. "Not necessarily female. More like _me_ embarrassing."

It was a start. Encouraged by the intimation of an answer, Michael stepped forward, hoping the action would bring her to raise her head. It did. Her eyes were glazed with a coat of red, moist over the pupils but not a tear shed. He hoped they could get through this without crying. From either of them.

"You can tell me anything, Quinn." He pushed gently. "I mean, we've shared a lot, haven't we? We've known each other for… psh, six years! You cured me of my potato chip addiction. I helped you hide Herman when Cocoa got tipped off you were keeping a tarantula in your dorm room. And now we're partners. We're gonna work to keep Chase and Zoey together. We'll help Lola get through whatever it is she's going through right now, and then, once that's out of the way, everything else will be a snap! Head off to college, save the whales, find the cure for world hunger… No worries, right?"

It wasn't a full smile she bore, but it was genuine, so it would suffice.

"Just tell me what's on your mind. I swear," he traced an X across his chest, "I won't laugh."

With a shift of the wind, every trace of happiness in her expression faded into doubt. She chewed on the inside of her lip, her eyes flickering as she considered what to do. No. She knew what she would do. She would tell him. The question was how.

"I guess I…" She began without maintaining eye-contact. "I just see you with… with other girls and I feel so…" She closed her mouth and mumbled incoherently to herself. Sighing, she gave a swish of her head and tried again.

"You're like everyone's best friend." Now, she was making eye-contact. And amidst the brilliant brown were specks of shimmering green. "Or everyone's big brother. All the girls like you. There is no guy at school who has more girl friends… I mean, friends who are girls… than you do. There's a lot of reasons, I know. You're funny and confident and talented, but you're also really good at… _flirting_. Not in the I-wanna-date-you way, but more like the I-admire-something-about-you-and-I'm-letting-you-know it kind of way."

Of all the possible disastrous routes this conversation could have taken, this was nowhere near the worst. In fact, Michael was very much enjoying himself. For the moment.

"It's something about you we've all gotten used to- Zoey, Lola and me. You flirt with Zoey when you are telling her a humorous anecdote, like the one you told last week about the canary and the jar of peanut butter. Or you'll compliment her outfit or her fashion designs. Lola, well, you two have always hit it off. I know she's having a rough time right now, but she loves you and she gushes about how awesome you are whenever you compliment her acting performance. And she had plenty of good things to say about you to Lisa."

Michael whispered thanks to his favorite Latina. "Uh, Quinn, not that I don't love hearing all of this, but if you are going to continue listing all the things girls love about me, could you wait until I get a pen and paper first?"

She did not react except to stare blankly, which immediately brought Michael to abandon his humor. "I don't really get what all this is about."

She let out a whimper. "Well… You flirt with girls, regardless of whether they have boyfriends… Because I was correct, wasn't I, that you flirt with them because you like something about them? Or you want to appear cute to them?"

_This_ was uncomfortable. Michael didn't care for his mannerisms to be psychoanalyzed. However, there was nothing inaccurate about her statement, so he saw no reason to refute. "Yeah…"

She nodded then, her mouth widening with sadness. Water slowly migrated to the corner of her eyes, and even after a moment she made no an effort to speak. Cursing inwardly, Michael fruitlessly attempted a guess at was upsetting her. "Are you upset with me because I flirt with girls who have boyfriends? Do you think I'm like… cheating on Lisa?" He absolutely could not conceive what was bothering her.

"NO!" Her words were strangled through her sob. "I'm upset because you flirt with all these pretty, talented girls, but you have never once flirted with me!"

She stunted nature with her cry. The growth of the spring flowers, the breath of the breeze, the chirp of the awakening cricket; they all drew back in fear. Michael did not falter, nor did he voice a reply. If he was capable of doing so remains unknown.

"Not once! And I know it is vain, and I've long come to accept that I am not attractive. It was one of the reasons I become a scientist. But sometimes it is just so prominent, when we are all together you frequently compliment and tease Lola and Zoey, and I feel so left out and so… _ugly_." Michael closed his eyes then. Quinn continued: "It's not even that I like you that way, which just makes it all the more imbecilic, but it seems like you almost go out of your way not to include me. I know you don't mean to, which is why it's not your fault. It's mine. It's my problem. And now you must think I'm just a conceited and hapless ch-"

She had grown steadily animated as she raved, her hands now flapping about and her gaze tossing wildly. The first time he touched her that night, it was by her delicate wrists. He caught them simultaneously, but did not try to move them. Instead, he stroked the inside of her palms until she dropped her arms of her own accord. Her mouth remained open with her unfinished word still a blanket her tongue, and she remained this way even as she felt a warm weight on her hip. At first assuming she imagined the sensation, Quinn spared a glance downward. No, it was in fact his hand. His fingers were bulky and calloused, and seemed to lift her out of her gradually sinking stance.

The wind resumed then.

Frays of hair swung about in front of her eyes. He pushed them away with his knuckles as she raised her head. He towered over her, and a twinge of worry frosted her features. He barely noticed. Instead Michael traced the curve of her face, his eyes following the invisible trail left by his touch. He took seconds, minutes or maybe hours examining every inch of her face, until his focus settled on what he had determined was undeniably her best feature: her eyes. They were so very large, pools to swim in, where he could bathe in radiance and vast beauty. The notion was so appealing in fact, that he lowered his face to dive in. Yet rather than drowning in the hazel sea, he caressed her chin until she closed her mouth slightly, followed by her eyes entirely.

_Soft pressure, bold elixir. Brief capture, foreign leisure. _

That second was theirs, they would always know.

Michael stood back, allowing his hands to rest on her shoulders. She returned his stare with innocence and misplaced apprehension.

His lips disappeared into his mouth before instantly reappearing. This habit for when he was at a loss for words gave him an unintentional second taste of her.

"The reason I don't…" his voice came too loud, and oddly enough crackled. "The reason I don't flirt with you has nothing to do with my finding you pretty or talented. The fact that you would even suggest you aren't makes me want to punch Logan for not reminding you of it every day. Because you are amazing, Quinn, and… This actually is my fault. I just wasn't aware of what I was doing until now." He shifted uncomfortably. It was one thing to be intentionally unkind- it was another to do so without realizing it. He found his ignorance truly aggravating.

"You say that you became a scientist because you didn't believe you were attractive. I basically did the same thing with sports, only I was making up for the fact that I'm not very smart."

Quinn immediately began to reject his claim, but he held a hand up and tutted until she quieted down. "I'm not saying I think I'm stupid. I know I'm not. I've just never had the drive to do well in school. Not when I got more power from playing sports. Athletics… they just call to me. I feel connected. I can never work hard enough in basketball. I put my soul into my shots, and when that ball is soaring through the air I feel larger than life. It's the same thing with my music. I can say anything through my lyrics, and my thoughts sound so much better when I sing them instead of just talk about them. And when I can put just half my effort into schoolwork and still get a B, there isn't a lot of incentive for me to try harder."

"But you're an amazing singer, Michael, and one of the best athletes at PCA-"

"And you're one of the smartest teenagers in the state, if not the country. And that scares me to death!"

At the sudden confession, Quinn's forehead furrowed in confusion. "What?"

"I've accepted that academics really aren't my thing. That's cool with me, I'll get by. But you, you know it all. You can create combinations of things that I can't even pronounce. And then you go and do all these incredible things with them, like find formulas in free-throws and anti-gravitationalize things, not to mention using your systematic data compiler to retrieve my YouTube account after I was wrongfully deleted! There is absolutely no doubt in anyone's mind that you are going to go on to be huge, and combine that with the fact that you probably know a hundred different ways to attack me with that little watch your wearing… Let's just say I'm more than a little intimidated."

Her expression did not waver, but now accustomed to the many forms her eyes could take, Michael noticed the flutter of her pupils as she reviewed his words in her head.

But he wasn't quite finished yet. "I also wasn't sure you wanted me to flirt with you." Quinn tilted her head, a gesture that reminded Michael of the birds back home who built their nest on his windowsill. The babies that hatched juggled their featherless heads at the sight of their first human being, much in the same manner this girl inclined toward him, with such naive curiosity. "I mean… You're pretty much out-of-my-league. I still think that, even though you are dating Logan, which I will never ever be able to wrap my head around. I suppose I thought a girl as smart as you would be… put off… if a guy like me started teasing with you."

At that, Quinn began to laugh. Clearly the irony was not lost on her. "I guess I can sort of understand… I can honestly say though, I would most definitely not be offended." She chuckled freely until she felt the final shred of discomfort leave her. She sighed deeply. "I really am sorry about-"

"Hey, don't you dare apologize! Or I swear I will pummel you with that basketball."

She grinned maniacally. "You really think you can get to it before I zap you?" Quinn held up her left arm, where the illuminated screen on her watch displayed the time, date, temperature and her pulse rate. If he had noticed her current heart rate was higher than normal, he didn't acknowledge it.

"You underestimate my stealth and agility." To prove his point, he struck a pose.

"And you underestimate my reaction-time and aim."

"Touché, my brown-eyed girl."

It was his first formal use of her nickname. She beamed in response, reclining on her tip toes to envelope his neck with her arms. He ceremoniously lifted her off the ground and began to spin. Together they were a blur of bright orange and euphoric whimsy.

Had they been in tune with their surroundings, by now Michael and Quinn would have heard the hiss of deteriorating tin lying approximately ten feet away from them. The sizzle had crescendoed into a near-whistle over time, and only as the couple returned from their venture into fancy could they hear it. By then, it was too late to duck.

CHOOM!

This sound could have been mistaken for the launch of a small rocket. The can of spaghetti-o's burst into the air, tin fragments and tiny sauce-drenched O's flying outward like fingers from a hand. One person shrieked in shock, the other in terror. Both were winded by shrapnel before they could hide their faces. Of course, it was all over by then.

Engulfed with silence, which played for several courteous seconds before the song of the crickets roared to life, Quinn and Michael retracted from their defensive positions. They stared at the spot on the grass, where Michael's main course was no more. The sole vestige of its presence was the faint outline of a cylinder imprinted in the dirt. His pudding cup and bag of grapes were, at this time, missing in action.

Assessing themselves in light of the explosion, the athlete and scientist found themselves plastered with pasta. Not a bruise or scratch on their own bodies, or each other's, as they proceeded to discover. Ginger spots painted their arms, clothing and face, more than they realized after stepping closer to a source of light. Although they had yet to speak, both shared a silent deduction- if one were ever to be attacked by spaghetti-o's, it is most certainly a good idea to have a witness nearby to confirm your story.

"Michael!" A high-pitched voice called from the distance. Lisa's form appeared then as she stepped onto the court. She jogged over to them, a retort ready on her lips, most likely an inquiry about Michael's tardiness, that was lost when she noted something off with her boyfriend's attire. "What happened here?"

"Huh, let's just say we had a little trouble with a schizophrenic can of spaghetti-o's!"

Rather than giving her own input, Quinn stepped toward the grass, holding out her illuminated watch to better examine the scene. It was as she suspected. "Remember how I told you about my experiment for strengthening the chemical composition of metals? Well, I made my first batch of formula today, but I fumbled with a few of the ingredients and couldn't figure out how to make up for my mistakes. So I poured the faulty combination in the grass here… A lot of the minerals I used were good for the soil. You must not have seen it when you put your food down." Her voice grew distant as her attention wandered off for a moment. "The chemicals of my formula must have disinigrated into the can and formed a sort of pressure valve, constricting the internal atmosphere and frictionally heating the contents to gradually compress until the container failed to adjust according to the expansion and ultimately combusted!"

Now even the crickets were confused.

"Wow," Lisa offered.

"Wow is right," her boyfriend collaborated, "that is _so_ cool! I mean, do you realize the prankablity potential?" Michael looked even giddier than Quinn, who saw a very different potential for her formula. Nonetheless, she giggled politely.

Lisa looked back and forth between her cohorts. "Well, if you two are done conducting nuclear experiments for the night, I have a chicken-salad and meatless taco dinner waiting." She turned to face Michael, wiping off his cheek with her finger and gazing at him adoringly.

"Sure thing, Lil' Lisa. Let me walk Quinn to her dorm and I'll be right there."

Quinn tossed her hand. "Oh no, that isn't necessary."

His eyes bore into hers. "You sure?"

"Yeah. You two go have fun. I've got some new tests to run, thanks to you."

Michael made a show of blowing on his nails and rubbing them against his chest. "Well, I do enjoy contributing to the scientific community from time to time."

Quinn smiled wide before snapping her fingers, a thought striking her. "Oh Michael, I wanted to ask… Could you give me the name of that facility in Seattle your cousin works at? The research… sounded really interesting." Quinn deliberately avoided mentioning the subject of the study.

"Uh…" The boy placed his hand over his eyes. "Nope, sorry, I don't remember. I'll write to my cousin and ask about it."

"Thanks." A permanent grin was strapped to her face. "I'll see you guys later." She waved cordially and walked away, well out of ear-shot by the time Lisa spoke up.

"Er… Michael?

"Yes, shnookems?"

"You don't have a cousin in Seattle."

"_Really?_" He insincerely inquired. "Well, uh-oh spaghetti-o!" The deceptive twinkle in his eye mystified her. Yet rather than elaborating, Michael simply placed a comforting arm around his girlfriend.

* * *

Night poured over conscious bodies deeply enthralled in their greatest loves. Unconscious, these two bodies would reconcile, but only in spirit. The night loomed and observed their sleep-induced smiles with unrequited envy.

Michael dreamt he was the world's greatest and most respected criminal. With his cunning wit, daring persona and the ability to make women swoon with just a flash of his smile, he and his mad scientist accomplice, Quigor, rob from the money-hungry villains attempting to take over the world. And by sabotaging their allies, nationalized corporations such as _Pepsi_, _Toyota_ and _Chef Boyardee_, they rid the world of poisoned soft drinks, evil-robotic automobiles and vicious, blood-sucking noodles…

Likewise, Quinn dreamt of a laboratory, her own it would appear, based upon the countless awards and certificates sprawled across the far wall bearing her name. She sat in the spotlessly clean lab, Albert Einstein at her side as they commenced the formula for vaporizing infected DNA within prepubescent human beings. Her wedding ring, she would unconsciously note, smelled like Logan's aftershave. Above the intellectual chatter of her quite-alive companion and the bubble of brewing formula, she would hear Van Morrison's _Brown Eyed Girl_ playing in the background…


End file.
